I like books.
No, that's an understatement. I fucking LOVE books. I try to imagine sometimes, when life gets me down, what I'd do without stories. What if Enid Blyton hadn't written about the Faraway Tree? What if Roald Dahl hadn't conjured up a factory where sweets and chocolates and all manner of deliciousness were created? My entire childhood was built upon the blocks of Enid Blyton stories. I still look for dark rings in grass, and feel around to see if there is a magic button that will take me to see fairies and pixies. And I still check trees in woods to see if there's one tree that is impossibly high.
I'm never without a book. I have a queue of about twelve on iBooks and Kindle and a pile about 2 foot high next to my bed.
This blog was never created to be specifically a diary-style rant, nor did I intend to review anything but I've read some books lately that I believe deserve a review.
Today's is a book called 'The Drowning of Arthur Braxton' by a relatively unknown author called Caroline Smailes. After I read this, I instantly fired up trusty Google and went on a bit of a stalk, and bought all her other books in the space of two minutes.
'Arthur Braxton' is at times visceral, at times mystical and at times whimsical. The story switches between several of the characters and with each switch, the voice changes flawlessly. I'm not going to give a full synopsis as other blogs and reviews do this, and I think too much information beforehand gives the magic of the book away.
And it is magic. There is magic in the writing (I can picture the swimming baths so clearly, it's like I am there) and the story is heartbreakingly beautiful. And, unlike Enid Blyton's fairy tales of old, this one is a fairy tale with a grown-up twist. One I will read again when I've finished devouring her other books.
Buy it here: Amazon
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